


Clarity In The Aftermath

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sectumsempra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The carelessly cast spell brings a startling realisation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity In The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit.  
> **Pairing:** Harry/Draco pre-slash. Alternate take on the 'Sectumsempra' aftermath. Written in September 2006 for hd_angst.  
> **Warnings:** None, really, unless a passing mention of blood bothers you.  
> **A/N:** The wise man talking about the monsters refers to Nietzsche.

He sits in the gloomy corridor, he stares at the blank wall, and he waits.

He realises now, that he should have listened.

(Why doesn't he ever listen?)

"This thing with Malfoy, Harry, it's turning into an obsession. It's just not healthy, and nothing good will ever come of it."

Hermione was right, of course.

(She usually is.)

If only he hadn't been too pigheaded to admit it; if only he hadn't carried on with this madness; if only...

(A wise man once said something about monsters, and that when you fight them, you have to be careful not to become one of them in the process.)

Is he becoming a monster?

His temper has always been his greatest weakness. How quickly, how easily, he can be provoked.

He yelled cruel words at Hermione this morning. She ran out of the Great Hall, crying, and he regrets it deeply now.

(What he did to Malfoy tonight, he regrets even more.)

He wrings his hands nervously, and he thinks he'd do just about anything—anything at all—just for a chance to take back that...

_Sectumsempra_

(Such a smart move it was, too, using a spell he didn't know the first thing about, after he found it in a book that used to belong to a complete stranger.)

Harry grins wryly and wonders if, perhaps, the Daily Prophet had a point, after all.

Maybe he _is_ crazy, a loose cannon, a raving lunatic who should have been put away years ago.

(For those were not the actions of a hero, and perhaps, the wizarding world would have been better off if The Boy hadn't Lived, at all.)

He rubs his tired eyes, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

He craves a glass of water, but he doesn't want to leave here.

He knows he has to stay, just in case...

It's painful to realise how much this affects him.

It's sobering, how worried he was, how scared, when he saw Malfoy lying there, ghostly pale, struggling to breathe, collapsed in a pool of his own blood.

(He won't be surprised if those hard and shallow gasps end up haunting him forever.)

He recalls the panic that washed over him; he remembers how his heart sank at the thought of Malfoy dying.

It's not only sobering, it's also terrifying as hell, an unexpected revelation and a shocking reality that leave him no room for denial.

Briefly, he wonders whether Hermione has already figured out that part of the equation, or if he's actually the first to pinpoint the real reason behind his fixation on Draco Malfoy.

(How could he have been so blind?)

Harry bites his lip, and he glances at the clock again.

Two hours have passed since they first got here.

(Just what the hell is going on in there, anyway?)

He hopes Malfoy's all right.

Harry wouldn't be able to live with himself if...

The infirmary doors fly open.

Madame Pomfrey steps out into the corridor. The woman looks exhausted, and Harry can't tell from the expression on her face whether the news she's about to give him will be good or bad.

He takes a deep, bracing breath, before he utters, "Draco..?"

(He can't say the name without his voice breaking, but he's too anxious to be embarrassed now.)

The nurse gives him a weary smile. "He's resting comfortably. He's not completely out of the woods yet, the boy has lost an incredible amount of blood, after all, but I've given him a strong Restoration Potion and after a few days' rest, he should be feeling much better."

"Can I see him?" Harry blurts out.

(He probably sounds as desperate as he feels, but he doesn't care.)

Pomfrey frowns.

She doesn't yet know how Draco got those terrible injuries, or why it was Harry who brought him here in the middle of the night. She never asked, because a young man could have died, and there was no time to waste on words.

Now, she can't bring herself to question the student standing in front of her, either. He looks so lost and out of place and frightened, that it almost makes her heart ache.

"Very well," she finally says. "But don't be too long, and try not to excite him. The poor dear needs all the rest he can get."

Harry nods.

He suppresses the urge to run into the room, and slowly walks over to the bed, instead.

(Malfoy looks sick and pale and painfully vulnerable, and Harry has never hated himself this much.)

"Sweet Merlin, what have I done?" he croaks out, and bitter tears begin to fall.

Grey eyes flutter open and stare at him in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry says, over and over again, mostly to himself. "I'm so, so sorry."

He slumps down in the chair next to the bed, puts his head in his hands, and begins to sob in earnest.

A few moments later, he feels the lightest of touches on his left forearm.

(Or maybe his tired, guilt-ridden mind is just playing tricks on him.)

He looks down, and he sees a pale hand.

He looks up, and he sees eyes clouded by despair, but shining with sincerity, and he hears the hoarse whisper, "I'm sorry, too."

Harry tries to smile, but it ends up a grimace.

He sits back in his chair and he takes the pale hand in his.

(It's cold and clammy, but surprisingly soft; like a girl's, he thinks.)

He expects the other boy to pull away, and when he doesn't, Harry wonders why.

(But this isn't the time to ask.)

Not another word is spoken.

They don't know if this is peace, or just the calm inside a devastating storm.

They can't predict what this will mean, come tomorrow morning.

All they know is _here_ and _now_, and silence.


End file.
